


In the Flesh?

by cvsossong



Series: The Happiest Days of Our Lives [3]
Category: Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kid Peter Parker, Kidnapping, M/M, Robot Tony, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvsossong/pseuds/cvsossong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is kidnapped by a cult and expected to build a bomb that will reshape mankind. When he refuses, he is tortured to force him into submission. Meanwhile, the cult sends in a robot to impersonate Tony and throw the Avengers off- track. Archive warnings for depictions of injuries and torture (not too graphic, but just to be safe. There are mentions of blood and vague injury descriptions, as well as drugs).</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Flesh?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucydolly22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucydolly22/gifts).



> find me on [tumblr](http://halfway-punk-rock.tumblr.com/)

“Papa, have you seen my spare glasses?”

Steve pointed to the counter without looking up from the newspaper. “Second drawer on the left. Blue case,” he replied.

Peter pulled out the drawer. “How do you always keep track of them like that?”

“Your dad’s got six pairs of reading glasses spread throughout this godforsaken tower, and he always manages to blame me if he can’t find one,” Steve explained.

“Speaking of Dad, when is he coming home from that business trip?” Peter collapsed in the chair across from Steve and picked through the business section of the paper. Even though he was only nine, he’d somehow decided that he was mature enough to read the newspaper every morning with his father. Tony thought it was adorable.

“He should be back by tomorrow night. Why, you like spending time with him more than me?” Steve grinned.

Peter glared at him. “Quit trying to make me feel guilty, it was just a question.”

Steve shrugged and flipped a page. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear son of mine, whom I should remind came from my DNA and not Tony Stark’s.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Natasha came wandering in and immediately headed for the coffee pot. “Morning, fossil,” she greeted Steve.

“Good morning, Nat. Where’s Bucky?”

“Sleeping. I'm pretty sure the man doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘nine am’.” Natasha poured herself a cup of coffee with plenty of sugar and kissed Peter’s forehead as she sat down next to him. Peter scrunched up his nose.

“Annasha, that’s gross,” he complained.

“You used to like it,” Natasha reminded him. “And if you ever get too cool for my morning kisses just remember all the embarrassing baby pictures I have of you on my phone.” Peter’s eyes widened dramatically and Steve stifled a laugh.

“Quit traumatizing the kid, Nat,” Clint mumbled from the doorway. He stretched with a yawn and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Where’s Bruce?” Steve asked.

“Some morning meditation shit. God knows I love the man, but how he wakes up at 6 am to ‘greet the sun’ I’ll never know.”

“Quit cursing around the kid, Clint,” Natasha retorted, slapping him lightly on the head.

Clint grimaced at her and stuck out his tongue before taking a sip of coffee.

“Peter, go get something to eat, okay?” Steve gestured towards the cabinet and Peter jumped up to grab a bowl and box of cereal. “You’ve still got school today, even if Dad’s not here.”

“I know, I know.” Peter poured a heaping amount of cereal and spilled milk into the bowl. “Hey, Papa, can we watch another movie tonight?”

“Are you gonna make us watch _Lord of the Rings_ for the four thousandth time?” Clint groaned.

Peter scowled at him. “No. I wanna watch this movie Harry told me about. It’s called _Clueless_.”

Clint snorted and almost coughed his coffee up. “I am definitely sitting and watching that with you and your pop,” he grinned.

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “If it’s really that bad maybe we shouldn’t watch it.”

“Aww, come on, Papa,” Peter pouted. “Harry says it’s real good.”

“It’s not that bad,” Natasha assured Steve. “Trust me.”

“But it’ll be hilarious watching your reactions,” Clint chuckled.

“Captain Rogers, there is a phone call for you,” JARVIS said over the kitchen speakers.

Steve stood up and grabbed the phone. “Captain Rogers?”

_“Hello, darling husband.”_

Steve grinned and headed into the living room. “I was wondering if you’d call.”

He heard Tony sigh on the other line. _“I just couldn’t stay away from your entrancing baritone voice. Quick, talk dirty to me.”_

“Our son’s in the next room, I'm not doing that.” Steve lounged on the couch and turned the TV volume down. “What are you doing today?”

_“Meetings. Nothing but meetings, horrible meetings.”_

“Sorry to hear that. But look on the bright side—you’ll be home tomorrow, and we can have sex again.”

_“You really know how to bring out the sunshine in my life. What are you wearing?”_

“Tony.”

_“Come on, let me live a little. Give me something, baby. At the very least a naughty picture, I can work with that.”_

“Nice try. Not happening.”

_“You’re such a killjoy. Lucky I love you as much as I do. Put the kid on, will you?”_

Steve turned towards the kitchen and called, “Peter, your dad wants to talk to you.”

Peter jumped out of his seat and slid into the living room. He grabbed the phone and flipped over the side of the couch in one smooth motion, landing with a bounce on his back. “Hi, Dad!” he said cheerily.

“I didn’t get nearly that response,” Steve said, poking Peter’s side. Peter swatted his hand away with a grin.

While Peter chatted to Tony about something—something to do with science, Steve didn’t have a clue anymore—Steve returned to the kitchen and refilled his own coffee mug.

“Feeling neglected, Cap?” Clint asked with a grin. He nodded towards Peter, still lounging on the couch with his feet sprawled over the side of the couch.

“Not in the slightest.” Steve smiled as he watched the two most important people in his life talk animatedly about whatever project Tony was currently working on. “I used to be afraid that it would just be Peter and I for the rest of our lives,” he admitted. “After Sharon died, and it was just me taking care of Peter, I always thought… well, who’d want to take care of a kid that wasn’t biologically theirs?”

“Tony’s weird like that,” Clint agreed.

Steve chuckled. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

\--------------------

Tony was freezing.

When he first woke up, all he’d been able to notice was how dark it was in—wherever he was—before he’d lost consciousness again, thanks in part to the drugs they’d apparently been pumping in him. Now that he was fully awake, thanks in part to a large, nauseating electric jolt coursing through his veins all at once, he could notice several things. First, the coursing pain in his side that felt like his guts were ripping out of his body. Second, that he was tied to some kind of wooden table. And third, that it was absolutely freezing.

 _Whoever said Hell was hot was a fucking liar,_ he thought to himself. It’d been cold in the cave in Afghanistan, cold when the Mandarin and Killian had blown up his house and forced him into Tennessee, and it was fucking cold here.

A man in a dark mask leaned over the table Tony was stretched across. “Mr. Stark, it is an honor to have you here,” he said. Tony grimaced at the rasping voice. “You may call me Manson. I am the leader of this fine organization. This is my associate, Barnabet.” A female figure hovered in his line of sight, wielding a sharp, gleaming knife and a horrible smile. “She’ll be… persuading you to help us with our conquest.”

“And what conquest is that exactly?” Tony bit out.

The man leaned against the table and patted Tony’s cheek. Tony jerked away and glared at him. “We need you to build us a bomb, Mr. Stark. One that will tear a hole in civilization as we know it. From that whole we will rise, victorious, into the sun.”

“You’re insane. And not just for the whole ‘tear society a new one’ shtick, because we’ve heard that before,” Tony scoffed. “You really think someone won’t come looking for me?”

Manson smiled and patted Tony’s cheek again. “We’ve taken care of that for you, not to worry.” He leaned over to a computer keyboard and typed in a few commands. A screen popped to life in front of them with a security camera for one of StarkIndustries’ offices. And lounging in a chair in the board meeting room was none other than… well, himself.

“What the hell?” he managed.

“An invention of another associate of mine. Hubbard has a great interest in robotics and technology. He designed us our own personal Tony Stark, complete with your personality.”

The image disappeared and Tony blinked to readjust his vision. The woman at his right giggled almost manically. “No one will miss poor Mr. Stark,” she mocked, stroking the knife to Tony’s bare chest. She tapped the point of the knife against the arc reactor and Tony did his best not to flinch. “We could keep you here forever if we wanted.”

“But we won’t,” Manson interrupted, “as long as you do as we ask. It is best that you comply, Mr. Stark. I’d hate to let Barnabet and Koresh do as they will with you.”

Tony wasn’t sure who Koresh was, but by the sudden gleam in the woman’s eyes he probably wasn’t the pleasant one of the group.

“What do you say, Mr. Stark?” Manson asked.

“I say go fuck yourselves,” Tony spat. “My friends will know the difference between some robot and me.”

“I sincerely doubt it, Mr. Stark.” Manson snapped his fingers and a hulking figure appeared from the shadows. “Perhaps an hour or two with Koresh and Barnabet will change your mind.”

Manson disappeared, and Tony heard the clack of a door as it shut and locked. The large one, Koresh, wheeled the table up until Tony was at an angle and could see the room more clearly. Then the woman was in front of him, showing off her knife and grinning wickedly. She leaned in close to his face and licked at the sweat on Tony’s neck.

“I’d tell you to keep quiet, but no one will hear you scream either way,” she whispered in his ear. “So scream all you want, angel.”

With that, the blade pierced his side again and Tony was lost in a haze of pain.

\--------------------

Steve smiled when he felt familiar arms wrap around his chest. “Hello, angel,” Tony murmured in his ear.

“Hi yourself,” Steve replied. He turned a bit and Tony leaned down for a kiss, slow and sweet. “How was your trip?”

Tony groaned. “Horrible. I swear, those plane rides get longer every time I go.”

“That’s just because you’re getting old. Pretty soon you’ll be talking about how plane rides were faster and more comfortable ‘back in your day’,” Steve grinned.

“Coming from my ninety year old husband? Not much room to talk there.”

“I guess this ninety year old husband can sleep in the living room tonight,” Steve cocked his eyebrow. Tony leapt over the couch back and landed squarely in Steve’s lap, pressing kisses to Steve’s neck and collarbone.

“I love you, please forgive me so we can have sex.”

Steve laughed and wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist. “I suppose I can forgive you. Just this once.”

\--------------------

Koresh pulled away and smirked when blood dripped from his knife. Tony had stopped screaming a long time ago, but they seemed determined to pull one last strangled cry from his lungs. Stripes of blood riddled his chest and abdomen, and bruises bloomed across every other inch of exposed skin. They’d broken three fingers, Tony could tell, and the piercing sting in his side suggested at least two broken ribs.

“Ready to talk?” Barnabet stroked her knife against Tony’s chest, sending shivers down his spine. “Ready to give us what we want?”

Tony turned to her with a sneer. “Fuck you with a brick.” He spat in her face and felt a sort of grim pleasure when his bloody saliva hit her cheek dead center.

Barnabet wiped her cheek and grimaced. “I should kill you now,” she bit out. “And leave your rotting corpse lying on the street outside your precious Avengers’ Tower. Imagine the look on your dear friends’ faces when they find your pieces strewn in the gutter.”

“But then what’ll your boss think?” Tony smirked and let his head flop back against the table. “No bomb means no desecrated city. And no desecrated city means you don’t get your utopian society of devoted worshippers.”

“Don’t mock us, Mr. Stark,” Barnabet warned. “You think you know so much about what we do, what we stand for.”

“I know you’re planning to kill thousands of innocent people in the vain hopes that his country will submit to you. I know you’ve _so originally_ named yourselves after famous cult leaders. I'm not sure what else I need that will enlighten me to your plight.”

Barnabet slapped him, hard across the cheek. “We are more powerful than any religious cult before us,” she bragged.

Tony turned back to her with a grin. “Honey, you’re gonna have to hit a lot harder than that to make any impression.”

\--------------------

Something was wrong with Tony.

At first, Steve hadn’t noticed anything different. Tony had joked with the team, kissed Peter’s cheek, flirted shamelessly with Steve. He’d even cooked dinner for the lot of them and made a horrible mess in the process.

It was after everyone else had gone to bed that Tony had started acting strangely. It was small, really, so small that Steve wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been married to him for four years.

The problem was that Tony hadn’t changed.

It sounded odd, but it was true. When he and Steve were alone, Tony turned off his “public” personality and became the Tony that Steve loved more than anything. The Tony that kissed their son’s forehead every night after reading him a story. The Tony that cuddled up to Steve’s chest while they watched the evening news or a movie, occasionally pressing light, idle kisses to Steve’s collarbone. The Tony that gently teased him while they lay in bed at night.

But tonight, Tony was no different then he’d been around the team. He flirted with Steve all through the movie, chiming in with sexual innuendos every once in a while and rubbing against Steve’s thigh in a blatantly erotic way. He even had what Steve liked to call his “camera face” on—big smiles and seducing eyes with batting eyelashes. It was Tony, but not the Tony Steve knew.

Steve lay next to Tony now, faking sleep while he waited for Tony to stop tossing and turning. Steve had used the excuse that he was especially tired tonight to get out of sex—something that had been much harder than usual. Tony usually just asked once, while they were changing into pajamas, and if Steve said no Tony would just kiss him goodnight and curl up against him and that was it. Tonight Tony had tried for a good half hour to convince Steve to have sex. It had taken a firm “no” and some pushing for Tony to finally relent.

Something was very wrong.

\--------------------

How many days had Tony been here? It felt like weeks, but thinking pragmatically Tony guessed about three days. They’d barely stopped brutalizing him the entire time he’d been locked up. Sometimes they came individually, other times they tortured him in pairs. They’d cut him and beat him and shoved electrical wires under his skin, over and over until Tony wanted to rip his own skin off to end the agony.

Sometimes Manson appeared, stroking Tony’s hair and asking him to submit in soft, gentle tones. Then Barnabet would appear with her wicked smile and wicked knife and she’d cut into Tony’s arms and chest and soul. Koresh would join her on occasion, silent and hulking, beating into his bones with clubs and pipes and iron chains. It had become easy for Tony to identify them merely based on their methods of torture. That was the scariest part of it all, really.

Tony had only met Hubbard once. He was wiry, and small, and smelled of crazy in the worst way. He prattled on about technology like it was a secret lover only he possessed. Sure, Tony liked tech as much as the next guy, but Hubbard’s obsession bordered on perverted. His method of torture had been more psychological than anything. He’d promised Tony a world full of science, a world enlightened from its sins and ignorance. His world, he claimed, would be a futuristic utopia of technology, far away from human life. It made Tony sick.

Manson was in front of him now, smirking coolly as he watched Barnabet carve patterns into Tony’s chest with a white- hot knife. It was agonizing, gut- wrenching, pain, and Tony found himself crying out before he could stop himself. “Stop, damnit! I’ll help you, I swear. I’ll help you.”

Barnabet immediately stepped away, dunking the knife in a bucket of water to cool. Manson stepped forward. “What was that, Mr. Stark?” he asked in triumph. “Do repeat it one more time.”

Tony glared at him, already figuring out how to signal the Avengers for help. “I said I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

They bandaged his chest and arms and shoved him into another room with Hubbard. Manson had pointed to a security camera and warned him, “Any funny business, Mr. Stark, and I’ll send Koresh in myself.”

Tony nodded curtly and plopped on a bench. “I’ll need to work up a design,” he said, nodding towards the computer screen. Manson smiled and gestured for him to continue.

“I’ll come check on your progress in a few hours. Hubbard here will make sure you don’t pull a stunt like you did in Afghanistan.” With that, he was gone.

Tony started drawing up the designs on the computer. Across from him at the table, Hubbard was connecting wires to some tubular device that looked strangely like a telescope. “So riddle me this, mechanical man,” Tony started. “What’s a genius like you doing in this cult if you can’t even design a simple bomb?”

Hubbard cackled and hacked a cough. He sounded almost nervous to Tony. “I can build a bomb all right,” he assured the other man. “I just can’t build one like you. No one makes weapons of mass destruction like a Stark, right?” He cackled again and rubbed his nose furiously.

“Sure, if you say so. I'm just saying, a man of your… expertise should have figured it out by now.” Tony shrugged and added an extra layer of titanium to the design—one of his signature pieces.

“I could have figured it out. If I wanted to. But Manson says we need your bomb, can’t have anything going wrong on this plan.” Hubbard looked defiant now. Tony bit back a smirk and typed a few extra commands.

“Maybe Manson doesn’t think you’re up to snuff. Bet he thinks you couldn’t handle it,” he said nonchalantly.

He heard a slam across the table and glanced up to see Hubbard glaring at the security camera. “I can build a bomb, too!”

“Sure you can,” Tony replied. “But Manson doesn’t seem to think you’ve got what it takes. He’s just using you.”

Hubbard was still for a moment, eyes flinging wildly from one corner o the room to the other. Then, with a scream of outrage, he jumped up and stomped to the door, slamming it closed behind him.

Tony grinned and went to work.

\--------------------

“Hey, Papa?” Peter stepped into the bathroom, looking nervous. Steve spat out his toothpaste and washed his mouth out.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

“Does… does Dad seem off to you?” Peter asked. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, like he expected Tony to pop in any second.

Steve knelt beside Peter and gathered him into his arms. “What about him seems off?”

Peter shrugged. “He doesn’t offer to help with my homework,” he whispered. “And he’s out a lot at night. Dad doesn’t go anywhere unless Aunt Pepper forces him to go to a gala or something, and then he only goes if he’s with you. Plus, he won’t read me any stories at night. Says I'm too old for it.” Peter sniffled and bit his lower lip. “He says I need to grow up.”

If there was one thing Tony would never tell Peter, it was to grow up. Steve rubbed Peter’s back and stood up.

“You go on to bed, okay? I’ll come say goodnight in a bit. First I need to talk to Dr. Bruce.”

\--------------------

Tony blinked rapidly and tried not to throw up. After Hubbard had returned, looking furious, Manson had calmly gone up to Tony and stuck a needle in his arm.

“I’m afraid your mouth is just a bit too smart for your own good, Mr. Stark,” he’d explained. Tony had felt the rush to his head and the cotton taste in his mouth and groaned. The bastards had drugged him again.

Now blinking was even a chore, never mind forming actual words. Somehow he’d managed to start typing again, though it was slower than it had been before. Tony would have mentioned that, adding something about work productivity, but moving his jaw felt like bending solid steel with a pair of tweezers. He was exhausted.

Through the haze of drugs, he saw Hubbard print out his designs and start on the wiring components. Manson had ever so kindly asked Tony to design copies of the bomb, so he was working on that at the computer now while Hubbard proved his worth or whatever by building the actual bomb.

Tony rubbed his eyes and groaned when his vision blurred. There was no way he’d be able to finish by Manson’s deadline. Dumb bastard, drugging Tony when he still needed his help. Tony should’ve blown them up when he had the chance.

He blinked. That was right, he’d designed a malfunction in the bomb and rigged it to explode when Hubbard connected the final wire. He grinned dopily at Hubbard’s back and flipped him off for good measure.

There was a roaring in his ears, and Tony would’ve dismissed it as a side effect of the drugs except it was apparently new and had somehow drawn Hubbard’s attention to the doorway. Tony turned and blinked at the metal door just before it exploded in.

Oh. That had been yelling.

Now Hubbard was roaring in his other ear, and Tony had half a mind to turn and shout at him to keep it down but Tony was so heavy and _so goddamn tired_.

“Tony?” _Great, I'm hallucinating Steve._

“Tony!” _Hallucination Steve looks amazing in his armor._

“Tony, wake up!” _Could hallucination Steve please shut up and just look pretty?_

But now the hallucination was shaking him violently, and Tony blinked and shook his head. Huh. Not a hallucination. If he were sobered up he’d be surprised that Steve was there, but all he could do now was stand up shakily and flop his head on real- Steve’s shoulder.

“Can we go?” he mumbled into real- Steve’s shoulder. He felt warm hands around his back and curled closer to real- Steve, because real- Steve was warm and cuddly and frankly Tony was fucking sick of being cold.

“We’re heading out now, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Just hold on, okay?”

Tony nodded and played with the zipper on real- Steve’s jacket. This was a nice jacket. He liked this jacket. He was gonna make himself a jacket like this, only cozier and warmer and all covered in fleece with a hood and a pocket...

“That’s a sweatshirt, Tony. You’ve already got one of those with the shield on it.” Steve sounded a little amused. Tony supposed he should be insulted. Still, it was a nice jacket. Boy, real- Steve’s butt looked amazing.

Steve wrapped his arm a little tighter around Tony’s waist and Tony yelped in pain. _Damn it, real- Steve. That really hurt._ He rubbed his side and lifted the grimy shirt they’d given him. God damn it. Real- Steve had ripped his stitches. That was an awful lot of blood.

“Jesus, Tony, just stay with me!” Why was Tony on the ground? Did Steve push him? Why would Steve push him?

“Tony, please, God, stay with me…”

\--------------------

“…Dad? Dad! Open your eyes, Dad!”

Tony groaned and blinked in the light. “Somebody turn the sun off,” he grumbled.

“Oh my god, Dad!” There was a thump and then warm, skinny arms were wrapped around Tony’s neck. He pulled back and saw Peter beaming at him.

“Hey, kiddo,” he managed to rasp.

“Dad, I'm so glad you’re okay! It was awful, they replaced you with this robot thing that kept flirting with Papa and wouldn’t read me a bedtime story and then Papa found out ‘cause he said you were acting weird, so he went to Dr. Bruce and they figured it out and then Papa beat up the robot you and Dr. Bruce used its tracking chip to find its origin and they found you, and you’re alive!” Peter huffed in a deep breath and beamed at Tony again.

Tony glanced around the room he was in. White walls, white sheets, white clothes, and it smelled like disinfectant and pain. Either an insane asylum or a hospital. “So… there really was a robot me?” he asked.

“Yeah, it was so weird. It was like that movie we watched, _The Terminator_ , where the guy had a metal face and everything. He was so much like you though, it took a while to figure out he was wrong.” Peter crawled into the bed and curled up at Tony’s side. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dad,” he said in a much quieter tone. Tony smoothed his hair back and kissed Peter’s head.

“Don’t worry, Peter. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to knock me down,” he grinned.

Steve showed up a few hours later, and by then Tony was itching to get out of medical.

“Please tell me you’re here to sign my release forms,” he pleaded when Steve walked through the door.

Steve didn’t say anything, just stared at Tony in wonder. Then he cross the room in long, sweeping strides, grabbed Tony’s neck, and pulled him in for a long kiss. Tony sighed a bit. He supposed this was the next best thing to a medical release. Thank god Peter had fallen asleep already.

Steve was warm and his lips were a little chapped and dry, but he was so _real_. God, Tony was turning into a sap. He’d been gone for a less than a week and was already fantasizing about how much he’d missed his husband’s kisses.

Steve pulled away after a few minutes and rested his forehead against Tony’s. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“Hey, at least you had a pretend me to pass the time,” Tony replied. He pecked another quick kiss to Steve’s lips, unable to resist, and then another and another until soon they were at it all over again.

When Steve pulled away again, he looked like Tony had kicked his puppy. “I didn’t know it wasn’t you,” he said, and he sounded so guilty it made Tony’s heart clench. “I knew there was something wrong, I just didn’t… I couldn’t figure it out.”

“Enlighten me on what enlightened you.”

Steve shrugged and sat next to Tony on the bed. “Little things. The fake Tony was always flirting, even when we were alone. He wouldn’t read to Peter at night, wouldn’t stay quiet during the movies we watched. It didn’t really click until Peter told me that you… the other you… had told him he was too old for stories and that he needed to grow up.”

Tony knew he probably shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but it still hit him anyways. Damn low self esteem.

Steve kissed Tony’s temple and tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Tony’s neck. “I thought, maybe it was a shapeshifter or something. Thor says there’s some of those in the other realms, and at first I'd thought one had come here. But Bruce analyzed the fake you and the movements and whatnot and figured out that it was… well, a robot. After that it was just a matter of finding the real you.”

“Please tell me they’re all dead,” Tony mumbled. “I probably shouldn’t want that, but I do. I really do.”

Steve gave a half- smile. “The leader’s still alive. The others were willing to ‘die for the cause’ or something like that, but the leader took one look at us and snapped. Last I saw, he was crying in the interrogation room and spilling everything to Agent Coulson.”

“Hypocritical bastard. I hope he rots.” Tony leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder and smiled wistfully. “So you really figured out that it was a robot because it wasn’t as domestic as I usually am?”

Steve gently wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist and pulled him towards his chest. “I’ll always know if it’s you, Tony,” he murmured gently. “Because you’re one of the most special things I have in my life. I’ll always know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I was not expecting this to be as long as it was. Oh well, it was fun to write!
> 
> Thanks to Lucydolly22 for the awesome prompt idea! I tried to put as much of it in Tony's POV as possible and made sure to put in plenty hurt and drugged Tony for you. Hope you like it, dear!
> 
> The kidnappers' names are all code- named after real cult leaders. Manson for Charles Manson, infamous leader of the Manson Family. Barnabet is for Clementine Barnabet, a female cult leader who killed 17 people for her Cult of Sacrifice which she was a high priestess of. Koresh is for David Koresh, the leader of the Branch Davidian cult in Waco, TX that had a standoff with ATF and the FBI. And Hubbard is L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the famous Scientology cult. (They're all fascinating to read up on, if you ever want a nice dose of crazy).
> 
> Got an idea for a fic? A prompt you'd like to see? Either leave a comment on this fic OR go to my [tumblr ask box](http://halfway-punk-rock.tumblr.com/ask) and leave it for me! I'd love to hear them!!!


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